SPECIAL K or TOTAL LUNATIC
by daiyaonna
Summary: Psychosis and all kinds of weird things are the basis of K's undying recollection, but when memories resurface and people begin to die, is his past coming back to haunt him?


Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters…just the words, thoughts, and ideas of the story in their specific order.  ^_^

Rated: R for violence, disturbing images, random weirdness, etc., etc.

Other warnings: Insanity of a psychological nature, other stuff that might involve scheming and blackmail, and AU…at least, I think it is O.O

Author's Note: At last, at last, I've decided to grace all faithful Gravi readers with a strange, somewhat…okay, scratch that…completely twisted fic that is of both mine and my best friend's devising.  Yes, you heard me correctly.  This is a collaborated fic about someone who is still a complete mystery to me.  If it wasn't for my friend's urgings, I wouldn't have even thought about writing something concerning K as a main character.  I hope that this strange, little outlook on his life is enjoyable.  We're having fun coming up with things to throw your way, so if you're a huge K fan…please don't hurt either of us.  We're just entertaining.  Other than that, read, enjoy, and review!

Other notes: 

_Italics_ when K (or any other character) is speaking represent English.  Everything else is supposedly Japanese.

Both my friend and I are aware that K has one son, but I've also found other information that has said he had three children.  Being the creative geniuses that we are -*is laughed at repeatedly*- we have chosen to twist this story…please ignore our mistakes, this is completely unedited by anyone other than ourselves!!  ^_^ Three's better than one anyway, right?

SPECIAL K or TOTAL LUNATIC

Chamber One

        Red was once a pretty color, but I cannot stand it now, though so many things around me seem to thrive on its existence.  It's like a perfectly savored shotgun shell, or the shimmering hair of a guitarist who only needs the genki antics of a best friend for completion, but I do not have these things.  I own my life, my health, and the magnum that _never_ leaves my side –day or night- but I do not own my heart.  It is incapable of normal human emotions –anger, hate, happiness, satisfaction- but above all else, it is a stranger to love.  I'd had it once –I refuse to lie and say that I did not- and the passion in my life that I so dearly miss: a home, three beautiful children, a job that suited my personality, and…a wife.  

        And, oh, did I love her.

        I could have spent eternity with her, cherishing her, showing her the respect that she deserved, but it had not lasted.  I'd agreed to a former life of managing would-be Japanese pop stars –not the confidential government work I'd devoted myself to- and the unspoiled little world we had created together slowly dissolved into something grotesque and bitter, an empty shell of trust and devotion that drove us both insane with abhorrence.  I remembered the fights, the angry words and conniving tricks she would play, and I remember the day I brought the legend of all singers home with me, thinking to change her.  She had looked upon him with disdain, hating the very image of what _he_ represented, but the persistence in his struggle to remain and prove that he was more softened her.

        And, she could not resist his charm.  

        Three long years had passed before I realized that something atrocious had replaced my wife, the very essence of what I held dear, and I hate the memories of that time.  I cannot stand the nightmares of a life I no longer inhabit, but she haunts me still, and I know I am a sinner.  Far worse, a betrayer.   

        Yes, red was once a pretty color, but I cannot stand it now.  Crimson trickles into my vision when I close my eyes to sleep, and maroon seeps into my skin when I stand beneath the spray of the showerhead.  Rage occupies the thoughts I cannot control, seeks to destroy what I pretend to be, and all I can do is ruminate over her and the demise of everything I valued.

        It begins as any normal dream would; I am in a familiar place, the United States perhaps or in the safety of my house beside the trees, but nothing remains the same, and it is like the lurid reek of death that clings when she staggers into my sanctuary, decorated with the blood of my innocents.  

        _"Rage-"_

_        "Don't leave me, Claude." The name sends a shudder down my spine.  "Don't leave…don't leave…"_

_        "Rage-" And, the knife is in her fingers, plunging down into my chest to puncture my heart, but my reflexes are kicking in, and I'm grappling with her, my own **wife**, before I can stop what I am doing.  She is weaker than I, and she falls back, glistening ruby tears staining the carpet as she collides with the wall, her skull cracking repulsively against her concrete pillow.  It is then that I understand the magnitude of what she has done._

_        "Rage…" My voice is sad now, almost pitying, and she gazes up at me, blade poised delicately in my now liquid-soaked fingers.  Her eyes are dead, gone mad with aversion._

_        "Don't leave me, Claude," she repeats, her luscious tone decayed to something pungent and perfumed with lethargy.  "Not like the children, Claude.  Not like the children."_

_        Then I'm running, past floorboards blemished with smeared handprints and plush carpets oozing with scarlet fluid, and I trip into my eldest child's room, heart beating too fast to restrain.  A lifeless face stare back at me, eyes glassy and ugly with fatality, and the hands curled into balls, the mouth sobbing silently for the father that would protect but had not been there.  I stare in disbelief, doubt jarring its way into my soul, convincing enough to be real, but something lingers there and I run.  I scramble into the other rooms, scarred with the same appalling symbols of violation, and they are massacred in an identical fashion, tiny limbs cradling their exposed bodies pierced with jagged strikes and lethal assaults.  _

        The tears are coming, blinding my vision and salty in my mouth, and then…

I wake up.

Darkness poured through the window, reflecting the ripened face of the moon's full girth, and I sat stoically on my mattress, sheets twisted from turning and soaked with sweat.  Strands of blonde were plastered to my cheeks, heat noticeably rising beneath my skin to give it a flushed look, and a damp drop rolled down the side of my face, landing precariously on the top of my hand, fingertips curled around the stock of my magnum.  I stared at the shining metal momentarily, thinking that it could somehow save me from the images running rampant in my brain, and I carefully slid it into the holster lying lopsidedly on a table beside my bed before reaching up to switch the light on.  It cascaded over the wooden floors of the apartment, highlighting shadows on the wall, and I blinked at the mess staring back at me, briefly wondering where it had come from.  I caught a glimpse of a slender leg peeking from beneath a blanket spread carefully on the ground, and I remembered everything.

        Ryuichi had stayed the night.

        It was all he did anymore, really.  I knew he had his own house, had everything his little bunny-heart desired, but he was also the only one who really knew why I had returned to Japan; he and Seguchi Tohma.  The owner of NG-Records, a talented musician and producer, and an even older friend, Tohma could be a disagreeable bastard when he wanted to be, but his intensity remained in the way he cared for those around him, and he was someone I could trust.  I worried, though, and I could not help it.  Tohma had to stop living in his own personal world where he thought that cold-hearted writer actually cared for him as more than an acquaintance and as a brother-in-law.  Yuki Eiri –was that his name?- belonged to the singer I bossed around, threatened to shoot and was extremely proud of…

        _'Ryuichi…'_ The thought came from the gaps in my mind in an unexpected burst, and I silently slid from my bed to stand, nothing clothing my body but a pair of sweatpants.  Golden locks of hair fell around my shoulder, loose from its habitual high and tightly pulled ponytail, and I examined the limp form of the Japanese singing legend lying haphazardly at the bottom of my mattress on the hard planks of wood.  His head was snuggled into the crook of his arms, the petite stuffed animal he had _always_ carried around flopped carefully over his eyes to shield them from any type of light that might have disrupted his rest, and he sighed in his sleep -quiet, cute, and vulnerable.

        _"Not like the children."_ Rage's voice made my stomach churn, and I hastily grabbed my beloved gun, hauling it behind me by the holster strap as I raced towards the bathroom, which lay out of my bedroom and down the hall.  The normally short walk took eternity, the edges of the wall looming up, threatening to consume me, and I staggered into the lit linoleum haven, fingers instantly twisting at the knobs to the shower.  I was under the warm spray before I could comprehend it, my clothes forgotten on the tiles beside my gun, and I worshipped the soothing caress nibbling at my flesh, putting me at ease.

        Swirling.

        Sinking.

        I batted my eyes and found myself face down against the cushions of my couch, my tongue dry and a strange taste in my mouth.  My hair was damp and tangled, cascading down my back in a mass of yellow knots, and I was not dressed, the only potential covering being the afghan thrown across the back of my makeshift bed; a memento from America.  I grabbed at it, wrapping it around my waist as I tried to recall how I'd gotten here.  I had been in the bathroom…

        The phone beside me instantly rang, nearly knocking me to the ground, and I stared at it, my breathing somewhat labored.  I had to gain control of this.

        I shakily reached for the object, unaware, terrified of the voice that would lay within it.

        _"Don't leave me, Claude."_

        "_Hello_?"

        "_K_." It was familiar and not at all what I had been expecting.  I almost sighed in relief, but I would never admit to being afraid.  

Claude K. Winchester was _not_ afraid of **_anything_**.

"_Ark_." I could feel myself nodding, as though my old rival and companion was standing right in front of me, but I stopped myself, embarrassed at the enduring habit.

"_K_." An eye roll followed.  The bastard was certainly persistent; at least that quality hadn't changed.

"What do you want?" It took me a moment to realize that I was speaking in Japanese, and I restated the question in English, some part of my brain thinking that the lines could have been tapped.  Apparently, none of the military routine I had acquired had changed, and Ark found it amusing.  His annoying laugh was ringing in my ears.

"_There's something I must tell you_."

"_Then tell me_." If he wanted a fight, I would gladly give it to him.  I hated him…I really did.

"_Not over the phone.  Someone may be listening_." So, he hadn't forgotten, either.  I suppose the old saying was true –once you were in, you were in for life.

"_Place_?"

"_There's a charming shop right near the park where you can buy ice cream.  Do you know of it_?" Know it?  Of course I did.  Ryuichi always harassed me into going there with him after I had left the studio just so he could buy a frozen chocolate treat and get it all over his face and clothes.  The thought made me smile before I scowled.

"_Yes_."

"_Good.  There at twenty hundred hours…tomorrow_." 

"_Fine_." And, I hung up on him, not caring what colorful words he was going to call me behind my back.  He had the nerve to bother me here, in a place I wanted to be left completely alone, but I realized that could never be.

_"Don't leave me, Claude.  Don't leave…don't leave…"_

My past followed me wherever I went, and Ark was going to make sure it was worse than hell.  I smirked at the notion and wobbled back towards bedroom.

Tomorrow was another day, and I _almost_ looked forward to it. 

TBC?? -

A/N: O.O *is drowned by the silence* Considering that someone at least made it this far, how was it?  Any comments would be appreciated, as well as helpful!  Even _constructive_ criticism.  Please notice the word in italics: constructive…not flames!  If you want to leave a flame, it will only be laughed at.  

Muses: Dai-chan, that was very mean.

What can I say?  I'm sensitive.  

Anyway, pleas review and leave your ideas and suggestions.  Should this even be continued?  O.o  How does everyone feel knowing that, in this reality, Rage (or Judy) killed hers and K's children before trying to kill him?  Alas, the contradicting possibilities.  Please drop a line, even if it's a few words!  

Lastly, everyone give Kudos to my shy but wonderful friend, Ame, for helping me with this fic!  She's a great companion as well as a master of scheming…aside from the god himself.  ^______^

Review!!  


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